Our Dog Days Are Over
by KenzieKaddl
Summary: It is the hottest day of the year and the boys are out and about trying to find a way to relieve themselves from the unbearable heat. The docks might be just the place for them to clear their heads. Some will cool off in the waters, some will drink and one will cherish the last few days he has with his companions before they are turned into soldiers right before his very eyes. e/R


In the streets of Paris, voices rang joyously throughout the alleyways; bringing life to the absolute desperation that surrounded the musical party. Their song filled open windows and the ears of each and every passerby and one voice in particular; that of a rough, young drunkard, led their ballad.

He waved his bottle high with one hand and shaded his eyes from the bright sun with the other. The whole spectacle looked as if he were leading a damn parade.

_"Ah ! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira! Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse répète, Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira! Malgré les mutins tout réussira. Nos ennemis confus en restent là et nous allons chanter-!" _

_"Alleluia!"_ They all sang and danced around like a bunch of fools; tapping their heels on the hot pavement.

One boy, with curls as tight as a lamb's, skipped up next to the delusional soak. He, who went by the name of Courfeyrac, threw an arm around the drunk, "R, you fill my dreams, you do! Oh, Grantaire, I pray for you _every single night_ for one of these days we're all going to find you out on the cold cobblestone dead and _utterly_ shit-faced!"

"You won't miss me, Monsieur. Rest assured that I shall come back to haunt you until your very last breath!" Grantaire retorted and waved his fingers in the boy's face tauntingly. Courfeyrac swatted his hand away and huffed, "What are you planning on doing, huh? Going to drink me dry, are you?" "Of course. I know where you hide all of your best wine, Courfeyrac. You will go _mad_!" The other men hollered and laughed at their banter.

The sweltering August sun continued to beat down upon the poor band of school boys who slowly made their way down the crowded street. Its intense heat scorched the back of their necks and the unlucky few who thought it best to leave their shoes at home were now thoroughly regretting it. Though, it mattered not, for the boys were just as lively as ever. Lively, damp and rowdy as all get out.

_Completely_ inseparable.

Jehan, the youngest, drew up his trousers to his knees and unbuttoned the top of his blouse down to the bottom of his chest. Bossuet, who was already rosy red from the sun, wiped away the perspiration from his brow. Bahorel ripped off his shirt, wrung it tightly between his fists and whirled it about wildly. He then smacked his sweaty chest as he flung his head back; letting out a howl.

His energy surged through the others immediately. Suddenly, all of the men began howling and whistling into the sky as hands collided with backs and elbows were thrown around blindly in a playful brawl.

All joined in the little rumble except for one boy.

The one boy who was in the absolute midst of it all.

The one boy who was now uncharacteristically walking with the flow of everyone else instead of ahead.

The one boy who watched the whole scene through quiet, stunning, sapphire eyes.

A small, barely visible smile crossed his soft, pink lips as he watched his friends rejoice. To an outsider it would seem that the student was an ideal stoic, but, in fact, couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Enjolras was a passionate man with the heart the size of the country he served with a valiant stride. He was headstrong and _always_ determined, but for once he decided to just stand back and let absolutely everything soak in. The beautiful warrior wanted to keep every single detail about this adventure fresh in his mind for as long as he possibly could. He knew all too well of what was to come.

Red and black.

Guns and blood.

The impending revolution and the barricade.

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose; trying to rid himself of his thoughts.

That was his problem.

He thought.

A sigh escaped his lips. It came out trembling which surprised him. As he cleared his throat, he straightened his jacket; refusing to take the blasted thing off despite the heat.

Enjolras was suddenly pulled from the clouds and back down to reality when he felt a slight tap on his forearm. His head snapped up as he was drawn from his thoughts. The wistful air that had enveloped him was once again hardened and his blonde hair fell to the side. His blue orbs were met with a deep, earthy brown.

Grantaire took a swig from his bottle and tilted his head. "Well, Apollo, you're suspiciously quiet, aren't you? Penny for your thoughts?" Grantaire mused with genuine eyes. Enjolras bit his cheek and smiled, "The damn sun. It's hot as hell. My mind is drifting."

Grantaire chewed this over and nodded slowly, "Don't pass out on me. I'm not carrying you. Besides, we're almost to the docks. You can make it that far, can't you?" Enjolras blinked and challenged him with his clever eyes, "You think I would let you carry me? You're drunk ass wouldn't be able to lift me past your wobbly knees. I'd be dropped to the ground faster than if you were hoisting up a sack of flour."

A smirk made its way across both of their lips and they walked on; one step behind the others.


End file.
